


Sparks

by unchartedsea



Category: Check Please! (Webcomic)
Genre: CPGradTFLN, Fluff, Friends to Lovers, M/M, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-30
Updated: 2015-04-30
Packaged: 2018-03-26 11:06:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,371
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3848650
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/unchartedsea/pseuds/unchartedsea
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>TFLN: I say camping because "let's go get hammered in the woods" sounds kinda fucking weird to be honest.</p>
<p>The weather’s getting warmer, so the gang decides to go camping. Camping meaning getting completely wasted somewhere that’s not the Haus, a.k.a. nature. And Bitty’s mind is on Jack…</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sparks

The tendrils of campfire flicker, sparking red-orange embers into the air. Bitty stares past the flames at the other side of the fire, where Shitty, Jack and Lardo are talking. There’s a joint between Lardo’s fingers and Shitty’s head is in her lap; she runs her free hand through his hair. Jack and Shitty are debating something, probably no longer the ethics of documentary filmmaking in the global South, but they’re so far into the night that even wasted Shitty’s mega-voice has faded to pleasantly sleepy. Jack’s face has a warm glow, his blue eyes unusually bright in the lighting.

Or is that just the alcohol? Bitty can feel himself tipping slightly, enjoying the floating sensation as he tilts his head back and forth. Normal drunk-Bitty likes to sway his hips to Partition or ***Flawless while simultaneously baking three coconut cream pies. But here under a dark sky sequined with stars, all he wants to do is enjoy the quiet.

Of course, quiet took a long time and a lot of whiskey to achieve. Ransom and Holster are both snoring on the grass nearby after one too many swigs of Jack Daniel’s. Ransom’s head moves with the rise and fall of Holster’s chest. The frogs are on bright-and-early breakfast duty tomorrow, so the three of them just left Bitty’s company. (Bitty planned to take it easy tonight in case he needs to wake up and help, but he hasn’t exactly done that.) He can hear some rustles and complaints from the frogs’ shared tent as they settle in.

Unfortunately, that leaves Bitty the opportunity to watch his crush unabashedly. Staring at Jack is dangerous. When Bitty looks at him, he feels a tingling at the back of his neck: the sensation of hands, phantom hands that whisper feather-light touches across the soft hairs at his nape. Then lips that trace their way down his spine, ghost over his skin delicately. If he thinks too long about it, he rolls his shoulders back, bites his lip gently, leans into the imaginary touches that haunt him through the day. A thumb rubbing circles on his hipbone. A palm resting on his thigh.

Bitty isn’t one for constant fantasizing, not typically. But somehow the physical and the emotional have swirled together within his longing, hopelessly entangled. He wants to trace a confession across Jack’s broad shoulders. He wants to breathe a love song into Jack’s open mouth.

A blush steals over Bitty’s cheeks as he brings himself back to reality. As if on cue with Bitty’s secret thoughts, Jack glances over and quirks an eyebrow. He stands up, makes his way around the campfire and seats himself right next to Bitty. Their arms brush. “What are you doing here by yourself?”

Bitty frowns. “I wasn’t by myself, mister. Until very recently. The frogs went to bed. Then I was appreciating nature.” He can hear himself slurring the words and stretching his southern vowels.

Jack’s deep chuckle turns Bitty’s heart into a toasted marshmallow. “So you decided to hang out alone, eh?”

He tries to avoid flirting with straight (well, he’s not sure about that since Epikegster happened, but at least uninterested) hockey gods who won’t love him back. He really does. But in the comforting glow of the firelight, Bitty feels his careful boundaries steal away. “I knew you’d come if I waited.”

When Jack doesn't reply immediately, Bitty glances up at his face. It’s pink, and Jack’s pleased smile feels like landing a triple Lutz. “Someone has to tell you to eat more protein.”

Bitty groans loudly. “Must you chirp me so, Jack Zimmermann!”

“It’s my solemn duty as team captain. The season _ain’t_ over yet.” His accent is godawful, but his smirk borders on devastating.

The season will be over soon, though, and Jack’s going to carry that smirk with him to the NHL. “What – what about after you graduate?” Bitty can hear the pathetic need in his own voice, but graduation keeps intruding on his thoughts without welcome these days. No more Annie’s runs where Jack keeps bothering him about ‘the pumpkin coffee’ when it’s long past fall. No more candid photos around the Haus as Jack sneaks around with his camera. No more long afternoons studying in the library and having Jack steal his phone so he won’t tweet about his enormous workload. No more disgustingly early checking practice. No more games. No more whatever he and Jack have.

“Even after I graduate. Bitty, I promise to chirp you for the rest of your life.” Bitty eyes Jack, looking for a break in his poker face, but Jack sounds so sincere that Bitty doesn't know if he should burst into laughter or tears. He does neither, just grimly looks down at his hands.

“What if that’s not enough?”

Jack’s perfect eyebrows furrow. Unsurprisingly, he switches to his captain voice. “Tell me what you’re thinking, Bittle.”

“I was wondering, what if you leave me – us – for pro hockey, and then…”

“Then?”

“And then you get too busy and you don’t come back?” At this, Bitty sniffles, not realizing how close to tears he had been. Sweet mercy, he’s drunk. He wipes his eyes on his sleeve. “We’re gonna miss you so much.” But the ‘we’ is a cover, because not even Shitty can understand how many pieces Bitty’s heart will be in after graduation.

Jack watches him with concern and hesitancy, unconsciously moving his hands around as if trying to figure out where to place them. “Bittle…I’m also…” He trails off.

Bitty wants to curl up inside his Samwell Hockey sweatshirt and hide. Crying, really? He starts to chatter nervously. “Sorry. I mean, I’m happy for you! You’ll be in the big leagues and your hockey butt is only going to get better. Plus I don’t even know who you’re signing with so you might not be far away. But it’s okay if you are, because we’ll still see each other. I just feel like we finally-”

Jack interrupts him. “Bittle. _Bitty_. Stop.” Bitty shuts up. Jack stares at him for a long moment, the orange of the flames illuminating his troubled expression. “ _Tabarnac._ Can I kiss you?”

“Wha-?” Bitty stares in shock, feeling the red flush spread across his face. Jack. Beautiful perfect not-straight hockey god Jack Zimmermann. Wants to kiss him? Now?!? But Jack’s blue eyes are locked with his, looking a bit panicked, so he manages a nod.

The kiss is a taste of sweet maple sugar and a ray of warm Georgia sunshine, soft and short and wonderful. Somehow everything within him feels sated, the kind of satisfaction that comes from eating the right portion of pie, multiplied by one hundred billion. Bitty feels Jack trembling a bit and reaches for one of his hands. Both of them are beaming like nothing else on earth.

They hear excited, loud whispers and glance across the campfire. Shitty, sleepy and high and drunk as he is, looks like he’s about to burst with excitement. Lardo has her hand over his mouth and a finger to her lips, but her smile is irrepressible. Shitty just pantomimes ecstatically, something clearly involving bros and hugs and “I was right!” but not totally understandable either. With an eyeroll, Lardo makes him stand up and marches him away to his shared tent with Jack, and it’s clearly taking all of Shitty’s mental faculties to restrain himself to a dignified set of fist-pumps.

Jack is blushing furiously. “Bitty…we should probably talk about this, right?”

Bitty nods. “So you like me too?”

“I…uh…yes. Yes.”

Bitty can’t help but giggle. “Eloquent.”

Jack replies seriously, “It doesn’t matter who I sign for. Of course I’m coming back to see you. Everyone, but also…”

Bitty’s butterflies have butterflies. He’s giddy enough to shout about it, or sing, but he’s pretty sure that Jack isn’t ready to out himself to the d-men or the frogs yet. He gives Jack a faux-skeptical look. “You’re just fixing to get pie on your visits.”

“Was there ever a chance that I wouldn’t get pie?”

“I’ll be a junior! Maybe there will be less baking time.”

“Not even for me?”

Bitty grins and leans closer. “I might make an exception.”

**Author's Note:**

> This is set before Jack chooses where to sign. I figured that we might as well give ourselves some early happy endings. Until Ngozi does, because we all know it’s gonna be okay. Right? Riiiight? I just need my hockey babies to be happy. 
> 
> I feel like I didn’t totally follow the TFLN prompt that I started with. I’m not sure ‘hammered’ is the right word for Bitty. But a lot of the others are definitely hammered, so I suppose that counts. 
> 
> So much credit to the wonderful ngoziu for the most wonderful webcomic!


End file.
